


nightmaresnarl's bitter grievances

by trouvaille (ResonanceAesthetic)



Category: Original Work, Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Bad Decisions, Bad Parenting, Child Abandonment, Don't Read This, Family Shenanigans, Satire, ShadowClan (Warriors), StarClan (Warriors)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResonanceAesthetic/pseuds/trouvaille
Summary: The malice felt and vengeance taken by one singular cat who believes everyone has wronged him has such magnitude that Starclan itself does not want to allow his spirit to ascend in fear of the carnage to be wrought by him.This is the story of Nightmaresnarl, the edgiest tom ever born in Shadowclan.





	nightmaresnarl's bitter grievances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlainSoda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlainSoda/gifts).



> this godforsaken thing is a _joke_ and is not to be taken seriously although i have written it as such. i can't believe i did this.

He was thrust into the unforgiving world by himself. Alone. Cold. His mother, Magnoliasap, breathed her last as he breathed his first. His first lungful was mixed with snow. The winter was harsh, biting his sensitive skin with the teeth of a wolf. He didn’t open his eyes, and he wouldn’t have even if he had been able to. He would have seen the cold, unfocused stare of his father, Wolfteeth, who had lost the love of his life and had gained a feeble, voicelessly wailing, dark black kitten.  
  
Wolfteeth was weighing his options as the yellow she-cat’s snowy corpse was growing white as the snow began to bury her. The tom, black as the night, harbored a countenance of half terror and half odium. His very spirit cast an unseen shadow upon the kitten, causing the kit’s wail to become audible as the frigidness settled in. Wolfteeth snapped out of his unfocused trance and huffed. He crouched down, judging the whelp with narrowed, amber eyes. Weak, he concluded. Magnoliasap, although a perfect specimen, had given him a waste of a son. Shadowclan would be disappointed. A fine she-warrior had given up her ghost for a son the size of a runt pinecone. He almost turned on his heels and abandoned the thing, but a realization struck him like lightning. Magnoliasap would have died for nothing if he let the kit die with her. It was better to have a potentially apt kit than nothing to show for himself. The sturdy, black tom snatched the kit violently with his front teeth, eliciting a sharp cry of shock from it. The kit began to whimper softly, unsure of its surroundings and trembling in the cold. Kits weren’t supposed to be born in the winter, Wolfteeth inwardly growled. What a nightmare.  
  
The walk back to camp wasn’t far, but the howling winds seemed to prolong their journey. Wolfteeth’s ears were ringing with the sound of pitchy kitten cries. You abhorred wretch, the father dug his canines into the thin scruff. The kit cried out sharply but fell silent. It wasn’t dead, however, just frightened into stillness. Wolfteeth was greeted by Beechflower, Magnoliasap’s younger sister with kits, and Goosetalon, Shadowclan’s medicine cat. Wolfteeth caught himself before he simply dropped the shivering whelp between his paws, afraid the cats before him would call him cruel and demand his exile.   
  
“I have no wife, but I have a son,” Wolfteeth uttered with a tone as glacial as the snow on the ground beneath their paws.  
  
“What’s his name?” Beechflower asked shyly. She was obviously unsure of how to address the situation. Adorable.  
  
Wolfteeth considered her question. Magnoliasap had not named the kit before her death. It was up to him then. Something that would remind this runt of its crimes. Something that would stick with it even after its death. Ah.  
  
“Nightmarekit,” Wolfteeth stated. Beechflower gave him a concerned glance. Goosetalon’s face remained unchanged, but a twitch in his tail gave away his unease. “He was named for his future. He will bring nightmares to those who fight him.” Better be safe than sorry. Beechflower relaxed only a small bit.  
  
“I will take him in with my litter, seeing as my sister has…passed,” the pale yellow she-cat became morose. Her tail drooped. Her swollen belly almost sagged more than it usually did. Wolfteeth kept his chuckle in his throat at the sight. Before it could escape, a third cat joined them. A handsome, fickle tom with a wit as sharp as a claw cautiously found his way to the small gathering—Whitebird, the father of Beechflower’s soon-to-be litter. He was almost impossible to see in the snow, only characterized by his glittering yellow eyes. Confusion burned like a fire in said golden eyes, and he opened his maw to utter the obvious question concerning the absence of Magnoliasap before he caught sight of both Beechflower’s sullen composition and the wee kitten in Wolfteeth’s jaws. “Ah, Wolfteeth, my condolences,” Whitebird bowed his head.  
  
“What will become of…?”  
  


“Nightmarekit,” Wolfteeth finished dryly.  
  


Beechflower butted in. “I’m raising him with my litter. Who else is able to take care of him?”  
  


Whitebird looked astonished. “You’re already overworked as it is, Beechflower! Can you handle another kit? Goosetalon said—"  
  
The medicine cat himself interrupted Whitebird’s frenzied rant. The gray tabby tom snapped fiercely at the overwhelmed father beside him. “Do not speak for me, warrior. You twist my words and make your wife’s worry worsen.” Stunned, Whitebird fell silent. Goosetalon sighed in relief and turned to Beechflower, who appeared bewildered at the medicine cat’s ferocity. “Beechflower,” the gray tom continued with a significantly softer voice, “Whitebird has a point. You haven’t even had your litter yet, and judging by the looks of you, lass, you’re going to have a full den. Are you sure you are able to handle the stress of another kit?”  
  
Beechflower stuck to her promise. She spoke with no lace of hesitation. “Nightmarekit is my sister’s son, my nephew. Whether or not I am able to maintain my health, it is my duty to make sure he is well. Magnoliasap would have wanted me to raise him, and now Nightmarekit will have a family with many brothers and sisters. I can do this.” The she-cat eyed her mate, and her small speech seemed to placate him. Goosetalon fixed an analyzing gaze on Beechflower. At last, he sighed and turned to Wolfteeth, Nightmarekit still between his teeth.  
  
“Do you accept this? If you do, Beechflower will have as much say as you do concerning your son.”  
  
No sense in letting Nightmarekit starve when they had come this far. “I accept these conditions,” Wolfteeth muttered.  
  
“With this binding agreement settled, let’s all get out of the cold. Starclan knows this frigid storm isn’t doing any of us any good. Beechflower, I expect you to be in the nursery stat. You’re due any day now. Wolfteeth, bring Nightmarekit to the nursery. He needs to become accustomed to Beechflower’s scent if he will ever feed from her. Whitebird, get some rest.” Goosetalon’s voice was stern, and he turned towards his den without time for questions from the two cats.  
  
Beechflower headed for the nursery, waddling carefully. Whitebird seemed bothered by the fact that his own mate was alone with Wolfteeth, but he simply pouted and returned to the warriors’ den. Wolfteeth huffed and hid his grin. Whitebird had the mental capacity of a wee apprentice. The black tom followed behind Beechflower, making sure she placed every step carefully. “We’ll be okay,” the queen mewed softly and offered to take Nightmarekit from his father once they had entered the den. Beechflower, with some difficulty, settled into her nest. Wolfteeth set the kit down softly, and it nestled into the queen’s fur.


End file.
